


there’s nothing left to cling to (but I’m still calling out your name)

by icanthelpbut_love_you



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e15 To the Night Children, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Alec Lightwood, everything goes to shit and alec can't deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icanthelpbut_love_you/pseuds/icanthelpbut_love_you
Summary: Everything is blurring together in a smudge of red and gold and for a brief moment Alec thinks that maybe this is a nightmare, that this is where he wakes up to Magnus shaking him and holding him close and telling him not to worry. That it’s not real.The aftermath of 3x15, and Alec being decidedly not ok.





	there’s nothing left to cling to (but I’m still calling out your name)

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I love exploring Alec's emotions so this was way too good an opportunity to pass up. And after the last scene, you know that boy is gonna be a wreck.  
> Also: slight warning for some description of blood/seizures and what is probably almost a panic attack, so just be aware of that. 
> 
> Title is from ‘Always’ by Gavin James.

He’s grinning as Magnus moves towards him, leaning into the insurmountable gravity that has drawn them together since the very beginning. It’s an ever-present force between them, impossible to resist, and right now there’s nothing Alec desires more than to give in completely and fall into orbit with Magnus. His heart beats a triumphant rhythm, warmth flaring inside him and perfusing his limbs as Magnus reaches for him, like someone has lit a match somewhere in his chest. He can’t really believe it, still, that he’s lucky enough to love and be loved back by this beautiful man.

And they’re going to move in together. However clumsily Alec asked, however long he took in his tentative round-about offer, Magnus wants this now just as much as he does. There’s no point trying to conceal the joy and relief and excitement he’s sure is showing plainly on his face, even if he wanted to. Magnus has always been able to read him anyway, more easily than an open book if he’s being honest. More like there’s someone standing and shouting the thoughts directly from Alec’s head with a megaphone. He likes to think he’s starting to be able to read Magnus too, learning all his intricacies and quirks as he goes.

Which is why when Magnus turns away before Alec can enthusiastically return his declaration of love, muttering that he’s fine before he’s even asked, Alec knows he’s lying.

It’s all wrong, the warm light feeling in Alec’s chest coalescing into something thick and cloying. And when Magnus starts retching it festers, tendrils reaching out to wrap around Alec’s heart. Belatedly, he thinks that people who are fine definitely don’t cough like they’re trying to separate their lungs from their body. He can hear himself calling out his boyfriend’s name, can hear confusion morph into uncertainty morph into fear and desperation as Magnus doesn’t respond at all.

So when Magnus stumbles and his legs give out completely, Alec’s body reacts, his subconscious already accepting the disaster unravelling before him even if his conscious mind had stalled several seconds ago at the glimpse he’d caught of blood trickling from the warlock’s nose before Magnus quickly wiped it away.

Magnus falls heavily against him, making no attempt to catch himself. He cries out in a language Alec doesn’t recognise. His voice is raw and pleading and the tendrils around Alec’s heart squeeze tighter at the sound, wrenching the breath from his body. It’s as though the words are being ripped from Magnus’ throat, and even though Alec hasn’t got a clue what he’s saying it’s clear he’s in agony, the pain so all-encompassing that his normally-ironclad control is completely stripped away.

It’s not only his grasp on language that’s come loose either, Alec realises abruptly, his arms prickling where they hold Magnus. The sensation is nothing like the gently playful sparks Alec has felt countless times against his skin; this is an invisible energy, pure power sweeping over him with ever-growing intensity. And it hurts. Somehow simultaneously like tiny drops of hot water landing on his bare skin and as though he’s plunged his hand into a bucket of ice. But he can deal with pain, will deal with pain if the alternative is letting Magnus go. What really unsettles him is what the magic’s reaction to him signifies: an unwelcome reminder that it doesn’t truly belong to Magnus. It’s unpredictable, not at all a part of him, and the way it almost gleefully lashes out once free of Magnus’ command only cements that fact.

Alec has no idea how any of this works. He’s laughably, pitifully out of his depth. He knows enough to grasp that this goes way beyond simple magic depletion though, utter chaos dominating instead of the exhaustion that would bring. At least that he would know how to deal with. But If Magnus has lost any and all control over both his words and his magic, the two things he normally wields with such incredible intensity and precision… this is bad. As if the way Magnus writhes in Alec’s grip didn’t give that away already. As if the grip on Alec’s heart tightening and tightening and tightening with every second he watches his love suffer wasn’t enough of an indicator.

He lowers them both to the floor, as much for his own benefit as Magnus’s as his legs start to shake. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s calling for a medic, acting fully on instinct at this point from years of drilled-in institute protocol that he never thought he’d be grateful for until this moment. Because if left up to anything other than pure muscle-memory Alec knows he’d be worse than useless; all the practice drills in the world couldn’t have prepared him for how to act when it’s the life of someone he loves at stake.

Magnus is seizing violently where he lies, and Alec’s hands flutter helplessly. Uselessly. They land on Magnus’ chest and press there for a fraction of a second, the need to try and control the thrashing almost overpowering, before his training kicks back in and he recalls rules about the importance of not restraining someone in situations like these. So then his hands are running along Magnus’ arms and grasping his shoulder and going back to touch his chest again because right now it is physically impossible for him not to hold Magnus and try to soothe him, however ineffectually.

As the seconds stretch out his eyes lock on Magnus’ face. And that’s.. that’s – it’s not good. His subconscious had spared him from getting a good look up until now, eyes too busy frantically scanning the room and making sure Magnus isn’t going to knock himself out on the leg of Alec’s couch as he thrashes. Part of him wishes he could erase the sight from his mind, go back a few seconds to what definitely wasn’t blissful unawareness but was so much better than this. Another part of him, a primal part of his mind awakened by the pure anguish surging up inside him, wants to scream. The rest doesn’t feel much at all. There’s a fog settling over his thoughts and a strange ringing in his ears that started soft and is getting louder and louder by the second, pushing away any distractions and narrowing his awareness until it’s Magnus and nothing else. Everything else is unimportant, anyway.

It’s really not good. That’s an almost comical understatement but it’s the only thing that Alec can think right now, rational thought cut off entirely, seeking shelter from the sight in front of him. The brief smear of blood he saw before Magnus tried to conceal it is dwarfed in comparison to the steady stream now trailing down over his lips, combining with the red smudges around his mouth that Alec can only assume are from his coughing fit. There’s red bubbling against his lips and if Alec was a little more coherent that would be enough to send him spiralling into untameable panic. But adrenaline rushes through him and he’s tilting Magnus onto his side before he even realises he’s doing it, ignoring flailing arms and the way his head spins as his own breath becomes laboured. He would rather be tortured in Edom for eternity by any number of Greater Demons than lose Magnus because he can’t hold it together for a few minutes until help arrives.

Where the _fuck_ are the medics?

This can’t be happening. They can’t be this close to making it, to starting a life together for real, only it all to fall apart.

Everything is blurring together in a smudge of red and gold and for a brief moment Alec thinks that maybe this is a nightmare, that this is where he wakes up to Magnus shaking him and holding him close and telling him not to worry. That it’s not real. Above the frantic roar of blood in his ears still drowning out everything that’s not Magnus, he can even hear indistinct murmuring, almost-nonsense punctuated with a string of “no, no, no, no, no.” But then he tastes salt and it jolts him back into his body enough for him to notice a choked sound and… oh. That’s him talking.

“Shit Magnus, no, I can’t - I can’t lose you.”

His voice breaks at the end of the sentence, a tight feeling rising up and clogging his throat until it breaks as a stifled sob. He almost laughs, probably bordering on hysterical (and he really hopes that someone reaches them in the next few seconds before he loses it entirely) as he muses that this is really not what he meant when he told Magnus he couldn’t live without him. He didn’t think he’d ever have to. Not really. Not in the way that’s staring him down now.

There’s a thundering noise growing louder second by second, joining his desperate and already-clamouring thoughts in a whirling cacophony. Then, it gets closer and all at once resolves into the sound of frantic footsteps crashing through the hallway. It cuts through the fog clouding his mind as surely as if he’d taken a seraph blade to it, and he yells to whoever’s out there so they don’t waste precious seconds trying to find the room he’s in. He sits back slightly, hand still gently gripping Magnus’ shaking arm, as the door bursts open. He doesn’t try to hide his tears. He’s well past trying to hide what he’s feeling and he’s certainly not ashamed. If there’s ever a time that it’s acceptable to see the Head of the Institute cry, he figures it’s when his boyfriend is thrashing on the floor fighting for his life.

The thought brings a new feeling, not relief or optimism by any means but rather a steely resolve that freezes the despair taking root and threatening to strangle him. And with it, comes the certainty the he will move heaven and hell in the most literal sense if that is what it takes to save the man he loves.

He can’t lose Magnus. He won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and yell with me on tumblr (@icanthelpbut-love-you)


End file.
